Lay Down Your Arms
by ramonasdream
Summary: A girl who's a striving writer and a university drop out is presented with the opportunity to find out what it's like to be one of The Beatles.
1. Chapter 1

I stepped outside the The Lanesborough hotel, feeling the nervous lump in my throat now turning into a sickening knowing that I most likely didn't get the job. I could smell the rain; it had been pouring for three days straight, but the rain has stopped while I was being interviewed. I sighed, giving the porter a mindless, faded smile and didn't even walk two feet when I dropped my umbrella, causing it to unfold with a loud crack. I only had time to catch a glimpse of a pair of jeansed legs rushing past me and inside the hotel as I was bending over to pick up my umbrella when a huddle of screaming ebullient creatures swarmed me, pushing me out of their way and down into a puddle of mud. "This must be what death feels like," I thought to myself, and then it all happened very fast: a worried face hiding behind a pair of thick rimmed glasses hovered before me, muttering something, then the hand belonging to the same person grabbed my arm helping me stand up rather harshly and guided me through the crowd of girls, inside the hotel that I'd left no more than five minutes ago.

The enormous screaming sound lulled once someone swiftly closed the doors behind me and the man still clutching my forearm. He kept walking towards the reception desk, and I began to fear that I might have somehow gotten myself into some kind of trouble, but he pulled me to the left and proceeded to walk around the corner, where, as I recalled, the lifts were supposed to be. A tall, slim man was standing in front of an open lift door and looked at me with a worried facial expression. It took me quite a while to realise who the man was - my gaze slid from his brown eyes to his seemingly overgrown hair and then it came to me - "Bloody hell, George Harrison of The Beatles!"

"Thanks, Mal," he addressed the man who was still not letting me go, and then turned back to me. "You alright, luv?".

"Err..." I stuttered. "Sure... I guess."

I looked down to finally register the damage (Mal quickly let go of my arm, as if taking my first voluntary movement as a sign to do so): I was covered in drying mud from head to toe, my beaded backpack was soaked and the cold and slimy sludge was dripping from my hair onto my left ear. I looked back at George and it suddenly hit me how ridiculous and surreal this situation was.

"Do I have mud in my ear?" I slowly asked in a light tone and awkwardly motioned my hand around the side of my head.

I could not make out George's thoughts, he just kept looking at me with the same worried expression, but Mal let out a loud sigh of relief. Finally George's penetrating gaze softened before he looked away for a second to hold the lift door open. Then he spoke again:

"Listen, I'm really sorry you had to experience them...lovely admirers of mine. I thought maybe you wanted to use our bathroom to tidy yourself up, it wouldn't feel right to let you go home like this." He made a quick gesture with his hand and then lifted it to scratch the back of his head.

"Err..." I began again, thinking I must look real stupid right now. I glanced at Mal who was standing on my right-hand side and back at George. "I really don't want to bother you..."

I didn't have time to finish my sentence when George cut me off in the middle of it.

"Hey look, all I'm sayin' is I wouldn't want to be walkin' 'round covered in mud. It's just a friendly suggestion. Yer free to leave if you want." He shrugged, looking calm and careless, but I could tell he was getting a bit annoyed by the tone of his voice.

I suddenly felt shame and a blush filling my face. George's passive rudeness mixed with seemingly kind intentions made me feel like a small child that was caught stealing a candy. I took a quick glance at Mal who, to my surprise, looked very angry, and nodded slowly.

"Yes, thank you," I said looking inside the empty lift through George's shoulder in order to avoid eye contact which, I was sure, would only increase my embarrassment in this situation. "A shower would be nice."

George stepped inside the lift and put his finger over one of the buttons waiting for me to join him. I was already inside and turning around to face the door when Mal growled at George:

"You. Don't think you're getting away with this so easily." he shook his head, turned on his heel and I could see him walking back the same direction from which we came before the lift doors closed.


	2. Chapter 2

The lift seemed to be moving awfully slowly and I kept thinking that I should say something to break the tangible silence. However, judging on those few minutes downstairs, I had sized George up as being one of those typical fractious celebrities and I didn't want to bother him any more as it was, nor did I want to give him a reason to leash out on me. I was silently conversing with myself about these matters when George's voice brought me back from my thoughts.

"You're not gonna try to steal my breakfast leftovers or chop off a strand of my hair, are you?"

He was now facing me and a curious smile was playing on his lips.

I was slightly taken aback by his sudden change of mood. He seemed almost happy now, as opposed to his previous coldness. I furrowed my brow at his unexpected question.

"What would I want your hair for?"

"Beats me," he shrugged and continued to look at me. "So you're not a fan of The Beatles, are you?"

"I dig you." I mirrored his shrug, but seeing his unconvinced look I added "I really do. I'm just not that into being a crazed fangirl, you know."

George emitted a quiet chuckle and shrugged once again.

The lift finally stopped and we got out. George turned right and I followed him along a very ritz looking corridor until we reached a door with the number 41. We walked into a big fancy living-room. You could at once tell that someone's living there by all the scattered newspapers, food leftovers, guitars lying here and there and most of the cushions thrown on the floor. And yet, I probably couldn't have looked more out of place standing there, looking like a homeless person. I stopped dead in my track by the end of one sofa and looked around as if hoping to spot a corner of the room where someone as dirty as me could safely store my muddy backpack and raincoat. George must've recognized the confused look on my face because he chuckled and shook his head.

"Don't worry, you're probably not even the dirtiest person who's been in this room," he turned around and walked out through the door across the room. I popped my eyes open at his statement, not quite understanding what he meant by that, and used the opportunity to get rid of my raincoat which seemed to be glued to me as I was taking it off. I threw it on the floor, took off my shoes and stepped over them to the middle of the room. I opened my backpack and extracted a bunch of wet paper sheets and an old brown notebook.

"Shit!" I muttered to myself.

"Something's wrong...besides the obvious?" George was back from another room, holding what seemed to be clean clothes as he approached me.

I held up my ruined belongings for him to see the damage. His gaze stopped at the bunch of sheet music in my left hand, then moved on to look at the notebook in the other.

"Anything important?" he simply asked.

"My sleazy short stories. Sleazy, but dear nonetheless." I sighed and put my things down on the sofa.

"I'll think somethin' up, luv," George glanced at the papers and stepped closer to me, holding up the clothes that he brought from the other room. "Trousers," he stated the obvious, handing me a pair of black suit pants. "Mine," he added knitting his eyebrows together. "And...Ringo's shirt."

"I uh, I wanted to thank you," I began as I took the white mens' shirt from him. "For being nice enough not to leave me outside. I really am thankful, you know."

"Forget it," he finally awarded me with a big, genuine smile, which assured me that he was, after all, a nice and caring man. "Hope you didn't think I'd be cocky and self-absorbed enough to leave you there."

"I would've gone with a simple 'pretentious'," I laughed and he, to my relief, joined in with a heartfelt chuckle.

"Shower's that way," he pointed to the door behind me.

I turned around and went into the bathroom. I couldn't quite believe this was really happening. It still seemed like a completely ridiculous and surreal situation to be in. All I could think was that this bathroom was the size of my bedroom and that, as of now, it belonged to The Beatles. I chuckled quietly to myself as I was undressing, stepped into the shower booth and slid the ground glass door shut behind me. I had managed to wash off most of the dried mud of myself when I hear a loud banging at the bathroom door.


	3. Chapter 3

I could only make out a few words that George's voice spoke to someone, which were "stop", "bloody loud" and "psycho". Then he raised his voice:

"Don't worry, luv, it's just Ringo..." now he got cut off by another voice who apparently belonged to the drummer of The Beatles.

"Please let me in," he almost cried out. "I swear, all I care about is me bladder!"

"Just when I thought this couldn't get any more weird..." I said to myself, this time out loud.

"What did you say?! What did she say?..." Ringo's impatient voice reached me from behind the closed doors.

"I said come in!" I answered before I could think about it.

Ringo stormed inside, while I was rolling my eyes at how embarrassing it all got by now. By the time I got rid of all of the mud from my hair, I could see Ringo's blurry silhouette in front of the bathroom door. I turned off the water and he immediately lifted up his voice:

"Sorry I had to barge in on you like this, luv."

"Don't be, if anything..." I began, but I was cut off for the second time today.

"I would've exploded!" I could see him flail arms as he spoke.

"I know, I'm..." cut off again!

"Who are you, anyway? You can't be..." this time, I cut Ringo off in mid-sentence.

"Listen, it's your bloody bathroom, so you really don't need to thank me for letting you use it. Honestly." I spoke very quickly, trying to say everything in one breath. "Also, see that pile of dirty rags on the floor by the sink? That used to be my clothes before George Harrison's crazed fangirls assaulted me, which is why I'm here and which probably answers the question of my identity to a reasonable degree. And finally, I don't mean to be rude, but it'd be great if you either left or handed me a towel, or both."

A complete silence settled over us for a brief moment.

"Hm." was Ringo's response. Then his silhouette took a few steps towards the ground glass door, hung a big white towel on the handle and without saying anything else walked out, closing the bathroom door behind him.

I quickly dried myself up and got dressed. The trousers were significantly too long for me, so I had to flip up the bottoms, then I tucked in the shirt and allowed a chuckle escape my lips when I saw my own reflection in the mirror - I looked eerily a lot like a beatle-wannabe, even my short hair was wet and looked dark brown and exactly the same length as George's. I waited a few more minutes before leaving the bathroom, looking at the mirror above the sink as I contemplated what I should do now. I made up a whole speech in my head about how sorry and thankful I am, and how I'm somehow gonna make sure that George and Ringo's clothes find their way to their righteous owners once I get home. A part of me wanted to stay here with them longer, they were the greatest band in the UK after all. Heck, maybe even in the world! But I could think of many many reasons why I shouldn't, so I grabbed my dirty clothes from the floor and stepped to the living-room once again. I was already in the middle of crossing it when both George and Ringo walked out the door behind which, as I could now clearly see, was a bedroom.

"What're ya dragging those around with you?" George asked and looked at the dirty pile in my hands. "I asked someone to wash 'em for you," he said before I could begin my well thought of speech. "As pretentious as it sounds," he added and smiled at me friskily.

"Hey is that me shirt yer wearing?" Ringo asked in a rather resentful tone, but George kept talking.

"That means you're gonna have to stay here at least until after lunch," George grinned at me. "So we might as well get acquainted with each other. I'm George Harrison and this is Ringo Starr." Now the both of them looked at me silently, waiting for me to introduce myself.

"Pleasure to meet you, George Harrison and Ringo Starr," I couldn't resist. "I go by the name of Joanne Woodward," I dropped my muddy clothes on top of my raincoat and made a quick curtsey.

"Cheeky," George noted and slumped down in an armchair in the other side of the room. "We've good thirty minutes before lunch," he informed us and grabbed a guitar, which was resting at the side of the chair.

While George was tuning his instrument, I followed Ringo and settled on a sofa. I was barefoot since my shoes were wet and dirty, and clearly none of the lads' shoes would've fit me, so I sat cross-legged. I turned to Ringo who was reading one of the newspapers.

"Thanks for lending me your shirt, Ringo, you're a sweetheart," I said.

He looked at me with his incredibly blue eyes and finally smiled. Clearly, he wasn't one to hold a grudge for long.

"So tell me, Joanne, how come you weren't one of them crazed fangirls? Don't you like The Beatles?" he put down the newspaper and kept looking at me, resting one arm on the back of the sofa.

"She digs us," George quickly answered the question and flashed another grin at me. "D'you work here, Joanne?" he asked me while gently strumming his guitar with almost no sound.

"I actually had a job interview here today."

"And how did that work out for you?" Ringo asked now.

"I didn't get it, but I got a great story about how I met The Beatles," I shrugged.

"Half of 'em," said Ringo, but just as he finished, two men stormed into the room from the hallway. I knew for sure who they were - the other half of The Beatles.


	4. Chapter 4

They practically jumped over the other sofa and sat down in front of me and Ringo. John grabbed a matchbox lying on the coffee table, struck one match and brought it to a cigarette already dangling between his lips while Paul leaned back emitting a loud, heartfelt laugh.

"Georgie, my boy, what'd you do to Mal? Poor lad's gonna bite yer head off..."

"What's that?" John was staring at me.

Paul heard his question and followed his gaze to finally notice me too.

"It's a girl, John," Paul mocked him, although it was clear that he was maybe even more curious than John.

"Why's she dressed as us?" John asked again and looked at Ringo and then George.

I didn't have time to say anything or even think about it, partly because I was quite interested in the ongoing conversation between the four lads.

"We made her," said George, still playing his guitar and not looking up from it.

"Well where'd you get her?" John asked once again in a lively voice.

"George found her outside the hotel," Ringo explained very casually.

"D'you think Brian will let us keep 'er?" Paul pondered loudly.

It almost didn't seem strange anymore when right after this question Brian Epstein entered the room. A short woman followed him inside, which seemed to bother him quite a bit.

"This lady claims that she was asked to bring a pair of women's shoes to this suite. Any ideas, boys?" he looked around the room reproachfully, yet somehow not noticing that I was indeed a girl and not just an extra beatle.

"Oh right," George jumped up and walked to the lady carrying a pair of black tennis shoes. He took them from her, still holding the guitar in his left hand, walked over to the sofa occupied by Ringo and myself, and handed them to me.

"Are we gonna go eat now?" he looked at Brian and smiled as if nothing had happened.

"Oh you must be joking..." Brian muttered helplessly and motioned for all of us to follow him as he turned around to leave the room again.

I smiled weakly at the lady who brought the shoes just before she walked out after Brian, then leaned over and put them on. When I stood up, the only other person left in the room was Ringo. I felt incredibly grateful for him for waiting for me. He gave me a toothy grin.

"Well come on now, girl."

I hurried across the room and we walked out into the ritzy corridor. The others were already getting into the lift when we caught up with them, and so did we. It was quite roomy even for six people (the lady had already gone somewhere). However, I felt like there couldn't be enough space between me and piercing, penetrating, inquiring eyes of Brian, Paul and John. Finally, the heavy silence was destroyed by John:

"Can you speak then, luv?" he asked me.

He looked incredibly gorgeous, standing so close to me and waiting for my reaction. And yet, that's an incredibly stupid question, I thought and simply nodded. It was clear that John was trying to provoke me into a conversation and when he failed to do so, he seemed to be losing interest in me.

The lift stopped and Ringo, George and I were the first ones to get out of it.

"I checked your shoes for the size. Hope these're good."

"They're my size, thanks, George," I flashed a smile at him and he matched it with one of his own.

"Does she only talk to them?" I heard John mumble from behind, but no one answered him, and nor did I.

I kept talking to George until we reached the restaurant. He told me about how they only arrived to London today and how he sneaked out of the hotel and then was recognized while buying cigarettes and was "nearly murdered by them sweet gentle girlies".

We reached the restaurant entrance at the same time as Mal, who now looked nothing like the first time I saw him as he no longer seemed to be angry in the least bit, with two other men. When all of us walked inside, Brian, Mal and the two men went to the far end of the dining room, leaving me and the four beatles to find a table of our own. When we did find an empty round table, big enough to fit all of us, I found myself sitting between George and John.


	5. Chapter 5

Paul and Ringo were talking and laughing about something, John was rummaging through his pockets and George was looking at the menu.

"What're you eating, Joanne?" he asked.

"Is that her name?" John asked in a curiously cheerful voice before I could answer George's question.

"Bingo!" I turned to John while George snickered quietly. John was now lighting yet another cigarette, which I couldn't help but eye jealously. I realised I haven't had one since yesterday.

"A ciggie?" John offered, motioning his head towards a half empty pack lying on the table in front of him.

"Don't mind if I do," I replied and extracted one cigarette. John's hand was already holding up a match when I seated the cigarette between my lips. "Thanks," I said exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, smiled at him and turned back to George.

"Anything but meat," I finally answered his question.

"You're a vegetarian?" he raised an eyebrow. "That's actually very interesting," he said and continued to examine the menu.

I took another drag of my cigarette and turned back to John who was now staring at the ceiling and humming a vaguely familiar melody.

"Are you lonesome tonight, do you miss me tonight? Are you sorry we drifted apart?" I joined in quietly.

John turned his face to me and smiled. He still looked strangely content. Anyone would have looked suspicious with that facial expression, anyhow.

"You've a pretty voice, girlie," he said.

"You too, baby," I winked at him playfully and puffed my cigarette.

"What else have you got, Joanne?" he asked, looking at me piercingly.

"What else?" I echoed not quite understanding his question.

"Do you read?"

"Read what?"

"Anything," John smirked at me. "Somethin' you'd have to look for as opposed to all the rubbish you see in every bookshop window," he added. I felt like this was some kind of a test, which was both annoying and intriguing.

"Who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish," I recited, only afterwards realising that my voice has dropped and I was whispering the words rather than talking in an appropriately quiet voice.

"You think quoting Allen Ginsberg is impressive?" John asked after a long pause.

"I think Allen Ginsberg is impressive. Don't you?"

"Ain't that a way of manipulating people?" he ignored my question completely.

"What? Quoting Ginsberg?" I snorted dismissively.

"Quoting anything to conceal yourself, luv," John kept his eyes locked onto mine, and I began to feel uncomfortable as an unpleasant notion of the point he tried to make was blossoming in my head.

"Ah. But of course," I pressed my lips together in a straight line for a brief moment and took a deep breath. "Of course," I repeated and forced a big smile. "Everything I do, it's just a way of manipulating people."

"Ye can't blame me, you know," his tone suddenly got a bit defensive and even aggressive. "I've me reasons to be doubtful."

"Because neither decency nor sincerity exist. At least not in your world, I suppose."

"Ha!" John exclaimed in a whisper. "At least we know you're well acquainted with the usage of these big beautiful words."

"There's no winning for me, is there?" I decided not to let him get to me too much. "If I try and prove to you that I'm no gold digger you'll take it as a manipulation, an attempt to cleverly get out of confrontation by gaining trust. If, however, I don't try to change your mind, I'm an impudent gold digger," I shrugged. "Was nice meeting you then, John Lennon," I grabbed his right hand and shook it hastily before turning my face away.

"Don't it make you feel as though..." John continued to talk to the back of my head, but he was silenced by Ringo and George's clapping.

Apparently, they were applauding a waiter who came to take our order. George asked for "the best meatless meal" that they got. If that didn't confuse the poor waiter enough, John's request to bring him three raw eggs with five teaspoons of sugar must've done it.

Once the waiter walked away with all of our orders, looking bewildered, to say the least, John stood up and went to the table occupied by Brian, Mal and the others. Paul instantly took the empty chair on my right and grinned at me when I looked at him slightly surprised.

"I'm Paul," he extended his hand for me to shake, and so I did.

"Joanne," I said smiling back at him.

"Ringo told me about what happened to you," Paul said. "Nasty little things," he mumbled and let out a chuckle when he I popped my eyes open. "I love me fans, don't get me wrong, but they don't have any decency at all," he shrugged while looking at me as I put out my cigarette.

"I don't blame them, anyway. Everyone should have the freedom to go wild at least once in their lifetime," I said matter-of-factly. Paul chuckled at me again and was about to say something when John called his name from the other table.

"Ah, business time," he winked at me as he stood up to walk away.

I now turned to George and Ringo who were discussing the peculiarities of a balding old lady sitting at a table not far from ours.

"Say what you want, but her pince-nez are fabulous," I noted dully.

Both Ringo and George chuckled, because if anything, those glasses made the lady look like a panda bear.

"Hey, Jo," George smiled widely as if he had just found out that something unbelievably wonderful was about to happened to him. "D'you play anything else besides the piano?"

I looked at him sheepishly for a moment, but then I remembered the sheet music that I actually showed him earlier and nodded once, chuckling huskily.

"I know a few guitar chords, but nothing really worth hearing."

"Neat," George said enthusiastically. "We're gonna head to the studio later today, you can show off then," he smirked at me before we both mindlessly glanced at Ringo who was now building a house out of toothpicks.

"You know," I slowly returned my gaze back to George. "I think other members of the band might be bothered by my presence." Ringo looked up from his architecture project, indicating that he was actually listening to us. "I think I'd better get my stuff and go home after lunch," I finished, even though a part of me still wanted to stay and talk to George, maybe even more than before.

"Alright, whatever," George sighed. Yet again I found myself not being able to make out his emotions. I immediately wanted to apologize, but that sounded stupid even in my head.

We were saved from the uncomfortable silence that was slowly creeping in when John and Paul came back and sat down with us. Soon after that our waiter came back with a dinner-wagon.

"Say, luv," John looked at me as the waiter placed a glass with raw eggs in front of him. "Would you fancy coming to the studio with us after lunch?"


	6. Chapter 6

"It's not that I don't appreciate your hospitality and friendliness," I looked John straight in the eyes as if trying to transmit my discontent. "But, pray-tell, you don't usually invite random girls to see Beatles' rehearsals, do you? That would just be risky and reckless."

I thought I saw Paul nod his head in approval, so I assumed that he thought I was still getting at the indelicate fangirls, but both Ringo and George popped their eyes open.

"The Beatles are known to take lots of risks," John pulled a wry face. "Lots!"

"Come on now then," Ringo began after a short pause. "You won't have to talk to John no more, I swear," he awarded me with a big beautiful contagious smile. I rolled my eyes as if to show that that's not at all what I was aiming for, but didn't voice my thoughts and nodded silently.

"Is that what it was about then," George leaned over to me a few minutes later and asked quietly while I was fishing a piece of potato in my soup bowl. "He can be a real dipshit," George said after I neither shrugged, nor nodded but rather did something in between. I snickered, finally turning my eyes to meet George's.

"Anyhow, I still can't believe you often indulge in bringing random girls to your hotel..." I paused as a new thought crossed my mind. "Scratch that. I don't believe you bring random girls to your rehearsals often. I guess it makes sense for me to feel out of place then anyway."

George raised one eyebrow and then put on his impossible-to-read face for the rest of our meal. We didn't talk much either. At first Paul attempted to get everyone into discussing a newspaper article that he'd recently read about an English farmer who claims that aliens kidnapped his dog, but no one had or wanted to say anything about it, so I merely pointed out that no cat would ever get itself into a situation like that as opposed to dogs. Then we abruptly discussed a few other topics such as gardening, current movies and travelling. Ringo asked where I was from originally, because my accent didn't sound too London-ish. I told him that my family kept moving all across England and Scotland up until I was 16 and that I'd spent the last four years living in Oxford before I moved to London a month ago. I also told him that I was a university dropout.

After lunch, we retreated back to the suite. This time the number 41 was overrun not only by the four beatles and me, but also Brian, Mal and one more guy named Neil, and the main room was full of cigarette smokes. I was sitting in the armchair, previously occupied by George, and watching Brian who was pressing the phone receiver to his ear and pacing back and forth as much as the telephone cable would let him. He seemed to be making arrangements for some radio show that The Beatles were supposed to guest in. Ringo was sitting on a sofa with his face averted to the ceiling and eyes closed. You could've thought he was sleeping if not his fingers monotonously drumming against the sides of his thighs. Paul was standing near the entrance to the suite and chatting with Mal and Neil, occasionally taking a quick glance at me as if to make sure I was still there. The unison of George and John's voices came from one of the two bedrooms hollering Mal's name. He gave Neil a light pat on the shoulder, probably meaning that they're gonna continue the conversation later, and walked across the room towards the open bedroom door, giving me a short "You alright, luv?" and a big smile when he passed the armchair in which I was still seated.

"Everything alright?" I heard Paul ask Brian who had just finished talking on the phone, just before John emerged from the other bedroom holding two guitars and looked around rather vacantly.

"What's that on me bed?" he asked no one in particular.

Incidentally, Mal and George appeared from the first bedroom at that exact moment, enabling George to hear John's question.

"Those're Jo's wet things," he informed John. "Needed a place to leave 'em dry."

"Whose?" John asked bluntly, but then looked around the room again and raised his eyebrows understandingly just before turning his gaze away from me and back to George. "Ah, hers. Well what'd you invade my bed for, you've got yours, don't ya?"

Only now did I realise I'd completely forgotten about my belongings. I looked around the room and saw that my dirty clothes weren't there anymore either, then promptly sprung up on my feet and dragged myself to vacate John's bed. George had completely covered it with my sheet music and seated my notebook on a nightstand between the two beds that were in the room. I gathered the sheets, grabbed the book and came back to the living-room. George and John were already in the first bedroom, discussing and practising guitar playing techniques, as I could hear. I set my things on the coffee table with a hollow thud which caused Ringo to finally open his eyes in quest of identifying the source of it.

"What's that?" he simply asked pointing to my notebook.

"My dream. Also goes by the name of short stories," I smiled at him.

"You're a writer, eh? " Ringo looked quite interested, which, I suspected, was only because he didn't have anything better to do. And yet, that hunch didn't come in the way of my ego getting boosted just a little bit. "That's fab! You think I could read it?" he reached for the notebook without waiting for my answer, put his thumb to the bottom corner and quickly flipped through all of the pages.

"Sure!" I said smiling widely.

"A writer?" Neil leaned on the back of the sofa that Ringo was sitting on and looked at the notebook over his shoulder, then smiled at me. He must've heard our short conversation from the other side of the room and decided to join in. "And you're not a journalist, are you? I'm impressed," he joked when I nodded my head.

"I'm not particularly keen on the idea of exploiting someone's life for public entertainment, which I'm guessing is what you're getting at. Although I'm that close to giving in. I desperately need a job, you know," I added seeing Neil's curious look.

He nodded smiling mildly and letting out a sympathetic sigh, as did Ringo. A few short seconds later Brian stood up in the middle of the room and declared that the cars to the studio will be in front of the hotel in five minutes.


	7. Chapter 7

I watched them all gather the needed instruments and whatnot. We were all down in the lobby about ten minutes later. By this time I had Ringo's raincoat on and was feeling like a fifth leg for a dog in this seemingly chaotic, yet actually very well coordinated group of people. Paul was still talking to Brian, and they seemed to be on a subject of high importance.

"You're entitled to not like me," I heard John's voice addressing to me and turned around to face him. "But we'll be sharing a car for the next twenty minutes, luv," he smirked at me. "Bear with me."

"I do not dislike you," I snorted, which only made it sounds like I was not telling the truth. "You're the one bashing me for being someone I'm not. Anyway," I emitted a sigh and tilted my head slightly to the right. "I can see how you might jump into a conclusion like that. Even though going about it with more courtesy wouldn't kill you."

"I'm not bashing ya," he momentarily flashed me a grin, then nodded his head sidewards summoning me to follow him. "Come on, let's go."

The rest of the group were already walking out through the main entrance. We all got into two black cars: George, Ringo, John and I in the first one, and Paul, Neil, Mal and Brian in the other.

John hopped into the seat next to the driver leaving me the only option to join Ringo and George in the backseat.

"Say, d'you actually ever listen to The Beatles?" George, who was sitting between me and Ringo, asked.

"I do, I do!" I assured him while smiling with one side of my mouth. "I just don't see what's so bloody special about you all that'd make me cry my eyes out," I added, which made both George and Ringo laugh.

"Yet," George said.

Once again, I couldn't quite understand weather he was joking or not, so I didn't respond. The car started moving as if powered by the first raindrops. Slowly the voices of John, George and Ringo, who were discussing what songs they needed to work on, began to fade in the soothing sounds of rain tapping on the car roof and the monotonous purring of the engine. I laid my head on George's shoulder and dozed off.

I walked into a lift full of people, about 20 or 30 of them. Each floor button had a sad face next to the number, and they went right up to the lift ceiling. I looked up and saw that the uppermost button had the number 578 and a happy, smiling face on it. A little old man stepped from the crowd of people and put a ladder against the wall with the buttons, then he turned around and disappeared amongst the other passengers. I climbed to the very top and pressed the 578th button. The lift took off and went up. It only took a few seconds and the lift door opened again. I stepped out of it and found myself on the roof of some building; it seemed to be the tallest building around. I looked at the black starry sky and held my hand up as if trying to touch it - and so I did. It felt like some very expensive fabric, the kind that is used for car seats.

"I wish more girls were like her," George's voice spoke into my ear.

"Asleep? You naughty boy!" John's mocking voice reached me from the opposite side.

"Sensible," George simply corrected him. "She certainly has a head on her shoulders. I wish I could say that about more girls, rather than to be chased by them through the streets of every city we go to. I dunno, I like this chick," he added after a short pause.

"Ready to have some fun, lads, eh?" Another voice came from the same direction as John's, but it seemed to be a little farther away. Then it spoke again, only this time much much closer: "Aw you goons bored her to death," Paul exclaimed in a mock horror.

I finally realised I wasn't dreaming anymore. I opened my eyes to see that I was still using George's shoulder as a pillow while John and Paul were standing outside the car and had my door opened.

"It's alive!" John shouted out throwing his arms up in the air. "Let's go now make some music already!"

John, followed by Paul, turned around on his heel and trotted off, into a big white building squeezed in between other fairly similar ones. I got out of the car and stopped to wait for George, grinning at him as he shut the door behind him. For a very short second he looked perplexed by my intense smile, but then bursted out laughing, hooked his arm around my shoulders and led me inside the white building where all the others were already waiting.


	8. Chapter 8

When George and I stepped into the recording room, Ringo was already sitting behind his drum set and Paul and John were tuning their guitars.

"George wants to mess around with sound first," John informed George. "The bird's gotta go," he gave me a toothy grin and stroke the strings of his guitar making a horrible blast of notes arise from the instrument.

"It'd be fab if you'd go sit behind that glass," George smiled at me and pointed to a big window across the room behind which was the audio console.

When I entered the said room, I heard Brian finish his sentence: "...so I leave them in your hands for now, George." He heard me walk in and turn around.

"Oh, right, this is their newest..." Brian paused looking at me and smiled. That's a first, I thought to myself. "Member," he finished.

"Very nice to meet you, miss. George Martin," the tall, serious-looking man that Brian was talking to extended his hand for me to shake.

"Joanne Woodward," I smiled as I shook his hand.

As soon as Brian bade his adieu and left, George Martin started giving instructions to the four beatles. He adjusted sound setting for each instrument and The Beatles began to play.

"Well, shake it up, baby, now!" John sang.

"Shake it up, baby," George and Paul echoed.

"Twist and shout," I mouthed standing behind George Martin as John sang again.

All four lads looked really happy to be playing, especially John who seemed to be revived by the music coming out of him. Seeing him like that, it was hard to believe that he could ever say anything bad or sarcastic about anyone, or be even remotely offensive.

Ringo's drums crowned the end of the song and they went on to play You Can't Do That. They played 12 songs (with occasional comments from Martin) which made up their newest set list for the upcoming American tour. Thinking about it, being there with them still felt insanely surreal.

Finally the last chords of Long Tall Sally faded and George Martin gave the boys thumbs up.

"Thank you boys, that was great," he said while George waved his finger for me to come.

"We're gonna play for a while now," George informed me.

"Hey you play the piano, don't you?" Ringo asked me pointing his thumb to an upright piano standing by the wall. "Let's do a number!" He threw his drumstick in the air and almost didn't catch it.

"Maybe she can sing, too," John stated rather than asked.

I convinced them that I should only take up the part of keyboard player and John and Paul, who were closest to the piano, pushed it towards the middle of the room. I sat down and ran my fingers along the surface of the keys as George placed a sheet with music and lyrics to You Really Got A Hold On Me. I quickly ran my eyes across the page and nodded.

I played the first chords and the others joined in. George and John sang:

"I don't like you, but I love you! Seems that I'm always thinking of you! Oh, oh, oh, you treat me badly, I love you madly! You really got a hold on me!"

John kept making funny faces at me and I giggled throughout the whole song. It was just beautiful.

"You might as well be in a rock n' roll band, luv," Paul laughed after we finished the song.

We played some more music, I showed off my unimpressive voice by singing half of All I've Got To Do. Time was flying by and at about half past eight Mal showed up and told us that the cars were already waiting outside to take us back to the hotel.

This time I shared the car with George and Mal. Mal, who was sitting next to the driver, turned to look at me over his shoulder.

"Neil said you're a writer. Is that so?"

"Not exactly," I felt George's eyes on me too. "I write, but I'm not a published author. It's more of a hobby or a life plan, if you will," I smiled at Mal. "By the way, I never thanked you for, you know, saving me from drowning in the mud."

Mal glanced at George and chuckled.

"Don't mention it, luv. Listen, I've also heard yer looking for a job, correct?" Mal's face got a little bit more serious, yet he still looked relaxed and happy.

"I am, indeed."

"What kind of job would that be?" Mal seemed to be genuinely interested.

"Anything, really," I pulled my shoulders into a shrug. "I've worked as a waitress, hotel maid and kinda helped my mum with quite a few art events. She's an event coordinator, you see."

"Hm. That's good I might find somethin' for ya, that's some pretty decent work experiences there. Remind me to get your info down once we're back at the hotel," Mal laughed at my widened eyes full of hope and happiness, and gratitude as I nodded enthusiastically.

We got back to the suite number 41 a few minutes later than John, Paul and Ringo. They were already settled down on the two sofas and drowning in a cloud of cigarette smokes and music coming from a portable radio. George and I joined them, and by the time Mal approached me with a piece of paper I already had a lit cigarette between my fingers. He wrote down my full name, telephone number and my address, then disappeared again.

The boys were about to order something for dinner when I decided that it was time for me to go, for real this time.

"But I haven't read your book yet," Ringo protested pointing at my brown notebook.

I shrugged sheepishly, because I didn't really know what to say to that. John lifted his gaze from a book that he was reading, which incidentally happened to be Howl and Other Poems.

"You don't need to leave because of me," he smirked.

"I'm not," I rolled my eyes and mirrored his smirk.

I found my now clean, yet still wet clothes in the bathroom, stuffed them into my backpack and grabbed my sheet music and the notebook, all while George was following me around and trying to convince me to stay the night. He finally sighed and flailed his arms helplessly.

"Alright, I'll drive you home," he smiled affectionately.

I wished the rest of the beatles good night and they waved goodbye. I was walking out through the door after George when John jumped up and rushed towards me. He took my right hand in his and pulled me closer. I thought he wanted to hug me, which would be weird enough, but instead he whispered in my ear, so silently that only I could hear:

"I'm with you in Rockland where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls', airplanes roaring over the roof - they've come to drop angelic bombs."

I caught a glimpse of his smiling lips before I turned around and walked into the hallway.

When George and I were in the car, he smiled at me and asked:

"Where to, miss?"

I told him my address and once the car moved, he spoke again:

"Would you mind reading me one of your stories? I'm awfully curious, y'know."

I opened my notebook, wondering which one should it be. I decided to read him the one about winged horses who live in the clouds, and who carry people that are not afraid of heights and speed, and wind in their hair, and, most of all, to fall. George was listening silently, and when I finished reading, he began to hum the tune of You Really Got A Hold On Me.

It didn't take long before we were parked in front of the building I lived in. George got out of the car and opened the door for me.

"I wonder what you look like dressed as yourself," he voiced his thoughts while we were walking towards the entrance.

We stopped just outside the door to the building. I was holding my beaded backpack in front of me with both of my hands. It was dark already, but the dim street lamp was enough to reveal George's smiling face.

"You know, I..." I couldn't finish my sentence, because George leaned in and planted a kiss on my lips.

He pulled back after a couple of seconds and smiled at me once again, pushing my hair away from my eyes.

"I'll be needing me trousers back, luv."

Then he turned around, walked back to his car and drove off.


	9. Chapter 9

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it, Ian?," I was standing in the doorway of my flatmate's room who was sitting at his desk, leaned over a book with physics formulas.

"Sure," he mumbled. "If you're on drugs. Sure, why not?" His eyes were locked onto the book as he spoke incredulously.

"I met The Beatles, Ian."

He slowly turned his head, not quite pleased with the necessity to look away from his notes, and raised an eyebrow.

"What on earth happened to you?" Knowing him, that should've been a reference to my clothing rather than my words.

"I'm serious, I met The Beatles!" exclaimed excitedly, although I knew that there was another, better reason for my excitement.

"Well far out. I thought someone kidnapped you, Jo," he rolled eyes at me and turned back to the physics book.

Ian's been like that for as long as I've known him, that must've been about ten years. He was lots of fun if he was in the right mood, but he mostly enjoyed playing the part of a very sarcastic physics student.

I snickered, walked up to him from behind, put my hands on the sides of his head and placed a kiss in his hair.

"You're gonna blow a fuse in there," I put the tips of my index fingers to his temples. "If you keep studying so much."

I woke up fairly early the next morning. There was nothing for me to do and nowhere to be so I decided to make breakfast for Ian who walked into the kitchen 20 minutes later to find me making French toast and singing You Really Got A Hold On Me, which made him laugh quite a bit.

"Did you really meet The Beatles then?" He chuckled.

I nodded happily and placed a plate in front of him as he sat down at our small square kitchen table.

He kept asking me random questions about the day before for the rest of the morning, and finally declared that I was either not right in the head or in love. I was sure it was neither - I merely kept thinking about George and the kiss, and it made me feel light-headed.

Later that afternoon I received a phone call from my father who insisted that I found a job because he didn't have "a bloody tree with money growing on it". Surely, I was well aware of that.

It was the 18th of August - exactly a month since I moved to London, and I was still desperately looking for a job with no luck. The following three days consisted of waking up, thinking about George, getting the newspaper, circling relevant job offers, thinking about George, writing or reading, telling myself I should stop thinking about George because I was probably never gonna see him again, contemplating visiting my older brother who also lived in London and eating a few times somewhere in between.

It's been five days since The Beatles left for America, I noted in the back of my head in the morning on the 24th of August. I went to the kitchen where Ian had left me today's newspaper and a note saying "When a third grader was asked to cite Newton's first law, she said, 'Bodies in motion remain in motion, and bodies at rest stay in bed unless their mothers call them to get up.'" I laughed and was about to open the newspaper when the telephone rang in the living-room.

"Hello?" I answered it a few seconds later.

"Joanne? Joanne Woodward, correct?" A vaguely familiar voice asked; the reception was very poor so I couldn't quite tell who it was.

"Yes, it is she. How may I help you?"

"Joanne, this is Mal Evans, The Beatles' road manager, remember?"

"Of course I remember," I gasped.

"I'm gonna makes this short and clear, luv - I got you a job offer, but you'd have to come to the U.S." Mal sounded both excited and worried from what I could hear.

"Er..." I lost my tongue. "Uh, and how, uh. How'd that work?"

"You'd come to work as Brian's assistant. Kind of a roadie, too," Mal was explaining quickly as if he was running late for something. "See, Neil had to leave us... He had to go home and we could use some help. I thought you'd be able to handle our needs. Just for the tour." He added.

"Uh... Wow," I kept stuttering. "When do I have to decide?"

"Right about now would be perfect, luv."

I mindlessly covered my mouth with my free hand and looked out the window wide-eyed. I must've remained silent for much longer than I thought, because Mal's concerned voice asked if I was still there two or three times.

"Yes. I mean, yes. I want the job!"


	10. Chapter 10

I talked to Mal some more and found out that it was a group decision to turn to me, and he assured me that I wouldn't need to worry about money, and, most importantly, that I had to leave at 5pm on that day.

I wrote Ian a long note, explaining that I absolutely had to leave before I could say goodbye to him, that he better be happy for me and that I'd call him as soon as I get to a telephone. Six hours later I was on the plane to America that was taking off already. The flight was supposed to take 12 hours, and I finally found myself at the Los Angeles airport at 9pm of the same day.

Mal had told me that there's gonna be a driver waiting for me and so he was, standing outside the airport and holding a card with my name. I haven't seen George in a week, I thought to myself as I sat in a car taking me to the hotel that The Beatles were staying in. I kept looking out the window the whole time - California was beautiful.

Finally, we reached the hotel and I went inside; I was told to look for the Presidential Suite.

I knocked on the door and waited for about 30 seconds before I saw Ringo standing before me. He looked ever so slightly confused for a second, but then greeted me with a wide smile.  
"'ello, girl!" he stepped aside to let me in.

I immediately saw two men slumped down on a sofa in front of T.V. in the middle of this enormously huge and fancy room. George and Paul both looked at me at the same time and both mirrored my big grin. Ringo took my suitcase and set it aside while George sprung on his feet and captured me in an embrace. Then Mal walked in from another door.

"Oh, hello, Joanne! How was the trip? When did you get here? You can tell me all about it while we walk to the conference room where your first job assignment is waiting," his eyes were sparkling.

"Hey, that ain't fair at all," George protested and hooked an arm around my shoulders. "I think we can all agree that she's more needed here," he winked at me.

"Don't start it, you can have 'er in an hour." Mal took me by the arm and gently pulled me out of George's reach, then looked me up and down. "Yeah, that'll do," he commented on my peachy sleeveless a-line dress and a matching ribbon in my jaw-length honey blonde hair.

About 40 minutes later Brian Epstein told me that I was free to go. I left the people in the conference room to discuss the further matters of Beatles' tour and realised that I wasn't entirely sure how to get back to the suite. The hotel was huge, probably the biggest building I've ever been to. Anyhow, I decided to go left.

"Joanne?" I heard a familiar voice call my name just after I started to walk.

I turned around and saw John standing 10 feet away from me. I suddenly remembered the last time I saw him and I simply smiled.

"I thought it was you," John said eyeing me narrowly. "You look nice. You should stick to this feminine look," he joked, rocking back and forth on his feet.

"Thank you, John," I replied. "Say, are you going back to the suite by any chance?"

"Don't tell me you're lost," he raised his eyebrows genuinely surprised. "I'd expect more from you. It's this way," he pointed his thumb behind him. "Straight, left, lifts. You'll find yer way from there."

"Oh, right," I muttered as he began to walk in the direction I was headed a minute ago. He stopped five inches from me for a very brief moment and looked me in the eyes as if wanting to say something, but didn't and walked away, whistling to himself. I still couldn't decided whether I liked him or not as I made my way back to the suite.

When I opened the door I saw George standing on the other side, his hand held up and reaching for the doorknob.

"Ah," he smiled with a hint of surprise. "I was about to go looking for you."

His words made me feel light-headed.

"Why?" I asked.

"I wanted to show you something," George took my hand in his and led me out the door and back to the lifts.

He pushed the toppermost button once we were in and we waited.

"I didn't get the chance to tell you how beautiful you look," George dragged the tip of his tongue across his lower lip, smiling at me.

He was standing before me with his hands buried in his pockets. Suddenly I felt very small and fragile, even though George was maybe only 4 inches taller than me. I blushed ever so slightly and thanked him.

The lift stopped and we walked into a short dimly lit corridor with only one door in the end of it. He stopped when we reached that door and looked at me.

"It might be chilly out there."

He took off his jacket and slipped it around my shoulders. My nose was almost touching his neck as he did so. Then he pushed the door open and let me through. We were on the rooftop of the hotel and under the infinite starry sky.

"Can you believe we actually had to land atop here in a helicopter to avoid all those fans?" He chuckled huskily.

I looked at him and smiled. Suddenly, looking at his handsome profile while he watched the stars, I felt a strong urge to kiss him. I realised that I enjoyed talking to and being with George more than anything in the world. I glanced down at his hand that was quasi-waiting to hold mine, and so I turned my hand to meet George's palm with mine, entwining our fingers together. I could see a big smile spread across his face. Then he turned to me and snaked his free arm around my waist pulling me closer to him.

"You know I like you, Joanne, don't you?" He whispered, brushing his lips against mine. "A lot," he added quietly and kissed me; then kissed me again, longer and deeper, and I kissed him back.


	11. Chapter 11

George and I were sitting on a sofa; I was resting my head on his shoulder and he had his arm around both of mine. The only source of light was the T.V. We'd spent the past couple of hours on the rooftop, talking about our families, and about how George was looking for a place in London, even though he was missing his folks back in Liverpool, and about other, less important things. It was already past 1am and when we came back to the suite, it was dark so we figured everyone else was asleep.

George lifted my chin up with his other hand and kissed me as I smiled against his lips. Just as he pulled away, someone walked in through the doors behind us and we both turned our heads to see who it was.

"Ah." John's voice reached us from the darkness. He made his way across the living room, stealing a glance at us holding hands, and entered one of the bedrooms without saying anything else.

I slept long the next morning. As soon as I woke up, I remembered how George walked me to my room door the night before and kissed me, as if we were teenagers and he was dropping me off at my parents' house after a date. That thought still made me giggle.

I got dressed and went to the Presidential Suite. The living room was empty, so I walked across it to the other side where the bedrooms where. I knocked on both of them and sat down on the end of a sofa helping myself to a bowl of grapes that was left on the coffee table. A few seconds later Paul appeared.

"Oh, g'morning!" He smiled. "Did ya have breakfast yet?"

I shook my head and he said that he was just about to go get some and complained that "those bloody swines" didn't wake him up, so the both of us went to the hotel's restaurant where the rest of The Beatles had already occupied a table.

"Good morning," all of us said in a unison.

George had saved me a seat next to him. Having breakfast with the boys was nothing like that time we had lunch. We all kept talking about all kinds of things and John was full of his sarcastic jokes that seemed to be very appropriate that morning. At some point Paul suggested that we should go to a club that night before leaving California and all of us agreed.

After breakfast, Paul and Ringo excused themselves, saying they had plans. Apparently, they were supposed to see some girls that they'd met after a concert two nights ago. I spent the rest of the day hanging out around the hotel and in the suite with George, Mal, John and Brian. I got the chance to talk to Brian more, and I found out that he was actually a very warm and funny guy, even though he sure knew how to be strict and serious. I thought that he was exactly what The Beatles needed.

At some point George and Brian summoned up two cowboy hats and wore them while George was teaching Brian to play the guitar. Mal was watching T.V. and it was some movie where the main character worked as a radio operator. That was when I remembered that I never called Ian. I put down the newspaper that I was reading a few minutes ago and stood up.

"Where're ya off to?" John asked lazily. He'd been watching Brian and George for a while, but now he seemed to be the only one to notice me walking towards the door.

"I need to make a phone call and change."  
He stood up and caught up with me in the doorway. I was slightly surprised since I was convinced he didn't like me and would be happier without me around. At least that's how he was acting most of the time; as if I was an unwanted addition to the group of people that were accompanying The Beatles on their tour We walked out into the corridor and turned right to go to the lifts.

"Do you still dislike me?" I blurted out.

John stopped dead in his track and looked at me wide eyed. He stared at me for a moment, then a smirk spread across his face.

"Why'd you think that?"

I gave him an eloquent look.

"It's this weird feeling I got... I don't know how to explain it. It's weird. You're weird!" I finished impatiently.

"It's weird not to be weird," he shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets and growing silent for a long moment as his facial expression became more serious. "I do like you. You passed the test," he said slowly, squinting at me. "But I can't help being weird. It must be a chemical reaction," he extracted a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and held it up, offering me one.

"Good," I said and took a cigarette. "I like you too. For some reason," I simply pulled my shoulders into a shrug.

"Not as much as our little Georgie there," John said looking down and emitted a short laugh as he fished a matchbox from his other pocket. "So what's up with that? Are you going steady now," he asked mockingly while lighting my cigarette.

I furrowed my brow and shrugged uncomfortably.

"So. You like Elvis?" He suddenly started to walk again.

We talked about many musicians that we liked all the way to my room. I told him about how I've always wanted to play the piano, and he gave me a short insight on his childhood dreams of becoming a famous singer.

John and I didn't click that well from the very beginning, but something's change and I was beginning to actually like him now. I enjoyed talking to him when he wasn't trying too hard to be witty or intelligent, even though he certainly was both of those things.


	12. Chapter 12

I changed from jeans and t-shirt into a black mini dress with keyhole cutout neckline and, almost against my own will, put some mascara and eyeliner on. When I came out of the bathroom, John was sitting in an armchair next to my bed and reading my notebook.

"You like it?" I asked making my way towards the telephone on the other side of the bed.

John lifted his gaze from the book and froze for a second, his mouth mid-open.

"I do, you look beautiful, Joanne," he looked me up and down.

"I was asking about the short stories," I pointed to the book in his hands while already pressing the phone receiver to my ear with my other hand. "But thanks," I quickly added and turned around to dial the number in order to hide my blushing face.

John didn't say anything, but I could feel his eyes on the back of my head. Wow, I thought to myself, John Lennon thinks I'm beautiful. I was beginning to drown in my own thoughts when I heard Ian's voice.

I talked to him for about ten minutes. Normally, I would've told him about George, but the fact that John was sitting less than five feet away from me somehow stopped me from talking to Ian about that.

John and I came back to the suite where we found both Paul and Ringo back from their dates, everyone got ready and two black cars took us to a local night club. I shared a car with George, Brian and Paul this time, and Brian warned us that there might be reporters and he thought that it was better if George and I "kept it low".

George pressed a kiss to my lips just before we got out of the car and walked into the club with the rest of The Beatles. Brian, Mal and I followed them in and found ourselves a free table. The music was so loud that we could barely hear each other, and Mal took me out to the dancefloor. He was a great dancer and good fun in general, but I still wanted to have at least one dance with George. I looked around and saw him talking to some reporter while a tall skinny girl in bright yellow dress was pulling his hand and trying to drag him to the middle of the dance floor. I knew there was no reason to be jealous, and just when I was thinking that, George and I's eyes met and he mouthed "Come dance with me", and so I did.

Just as I reached George, I Saw Her Standing There came on which made both of us laugh.

"This chick wanted to dance with me, but I told her I have a girlfriend and I want to dance with her," he informed me smiling widely.

"Oh you do?" I grinned, dragging my teeth across my lower lip. "Is she pretty?"  
"The prettiest!" he exclaimed just loud enough for me to hear him.

I threw my arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. We danced together until the song ended, then Ringo, who'd been talking to the reporters the whole time, wanted to dance with me, and so we did that.

A few songs later I left Ringo, Paul and George in the middle of the dance floor and went to get myself a drink. I was making my way through the crowd back to the table occupied by Brian when I saw John sitting at one of the tables by the wall. He was talking to a blonde girl that looked a bit like Brigitte Bardot, but by the time I reached them, she was already chatting with someone else and John was silently staring at the dancing people.

"Let's dance!" I stopped in front of him.

John looked at me listlessly and shook his head.

"I don't dance, luv," he said and I frowned at him.

"Well why not? Come on, it'll be fun," I nudged him.

"Look, I can drink with you, but I'm not gonna dance," he held up his hands defensively.

After these words Ringo walked to us and slumped down in a chair next to John.

"Me legs are killing me, I can't dance any more," he groaned.

"Then we'll drink," I said looking at the both of them and pulled up a chair that the Brigitte Bardot look-alike had just vacated.

By the time I finished my glass of martini Ringo was lighting a cigarette and John had provided us with three bottles of beer.

"Classy," I remarked upon John's choice but grabbed one anyway.

The three of us drank and talked, and laughed. It was nice how I gradually began to think of them as friends as opposed to member of The Beatles. And still, I could not believe something as great could've happened to me.

About 30 minutes later Brian came and told us that we were about to leave.

We flew off to Denver the next morning. There were some reporters of the plane too, so I was forced to watch George, John, Ringo and Paul act like a bunch of snappy little beatles for two hours. As soon as we arrived to the Brown Palace Hotel, the boys had to go to a press conference. I took the time to read through some of the documents that Brian had left me and took a nap in one of the bedrooms in the suite. I woke up and wanted to change when I found Ringo's shirt and George's trousers on the bottom of my suitcase. I took their clothes and walked to the door to the living room and opened it expecting to find it empty, but the room was filled with cigarette smokes, music quietly coming from an old radio and John's humming.


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh," John looked at me smiling from an armchair. "You were in there?"

His face was hiding behind thick rimmed glasses, much like the ones that Mal had. That was the first time I saw John wearing glasses, although George had told me that John was as blind as a bat without them.

"Catnapping," I mirrored his smile.

"Did the music wake you?" He asked sympathetically, from what I could tell.

I shook my head and made my way across the room to where all of the bags belonging to the boys were thrown on the floor by the sofa.

"I didn't know the conference's over though," I said as I was stuffing Ringo's shirt into his bag. "How long have you been sitting here? Where are the others?"

"I came here 'bout 15 minutes ago," John took a drag of his cigarette. "I'm guessing everyone else's still down at the bar, having post interrogatory drinks, you know. I should probably join them," he quietly sighed putting out his cigarette in an ashtray on the floor by the armchair and stood up.

"Don't!" I exclaimed when John reached for the radio to turn it off. A very familiar song came on and I couldn't help myself. "Please, turn that up, John."

I stood with my hands by my sides and stared at the radio receiver. A million and a half memories suddenly flooded my mind as a tender male voice began to sing "At last my love has come along," and another, female voice joined in with "my lonely days are over and life is like a song."

"You like that?" John had frozen, his hand mid-air as he looked at me bluntly.

"It has sentimental value," I slowly came back from my memories. "My parents danced to this on their wedding."

"Fancy. Sounds like one little perfect family you got there, ain't it?" John said rather scornfully.

"Except that my father cheated on my mum and they got separated last year; yeah, we're all pretty perfect back home, aside from that," I glared at him.

"Then why d'you want to listen to this?" John asked after a long uneasy pause, capturing my eyes with his.

"I want to remember that they did love each other, a long long time ago. That these aren't just meaningless words, you know," I continued, watching John's expression so that I would know when to stop bothering him with my sappy stories. "I imagine them dancing on their wedding day, smiling, happy, you know. It's comforting to know that, in a way, I am this song."

John hesitated for a moment, then waltzed up to me and extended his hand to dance with him.

I popped my eyes open and cracked a smile; this was the last thing I would've expected from him, but I loved how he kept doing whatever it was I thought he wouldn't.

"I thought you don't dance," I took his hand and he helped me to stand up.

John was taller than me by almost a whole head and smelled of cigarettes and spicy cinnamon gum. I loosely threw my arms around his neck and he wrapped his around my waist, pulling me slightly closer to himself.

"Don't tell," he momentarily awarded me with a wide smile.

We began to sway around the room to the music, and I kept looking into his light brown eyes as he gazed back into mine.

"What are you?" I whispered only half jokingly.

"To define is to limit," John smirked calmly.

The fact that he happened to quote my favorite book suddenly made him ten times more attractive. I couldn't understand why we didn't get along when we first met.

The song ended what seemed to be way too soon. The very last words of it - "and here we are in heaven for you are mine at last" - echoed in my head as I loosened my arms and let them slide down John's shoulders and drop to my sides. His hands remained capturing my waist, but he abruptly unwrapped them when the suite doors opened and Paul stepped inside, followed by George and Ringo. I knew that, for some reason, both John and I felt as if we were doing something indecent and unacceptable, but no one else seemed to notice anything.

George walked up to me and kissed me, then grabbed a guitar and plopped down on the sofa.

"I wanna play, I can't wait," he said quite impatiently.

Ringo, who was drumming the air with imaginary sticks, mumbled approvingly.

"How'd the conference go?" I asked all of them, though looking at George as I sat down next to him.

"It was alright," George shrugged, strumming the strings of his guitar. "Same old bloody questions."

"Same old bloody answers," Paul continued. "You'd think they would eventually stop asking about our haircuts, but we don't even bother to change our answers. It's like this twisted weird ritual dance with words."

The boys went on to talk about the upcoming show and the whole tour in general, only John seemed to be awfully quiet. When Paul noticed that and asked what was wrong with him, John merely said that it'd be easier to name what's right with him and remained semi-silent the whole time until we had to leave.

The Beatles played at Red Rocks Amphitheater that night. It felt a bit surreal watching them on stage. They were very rehearsed, very much at one with each other. They were The Beatles, that incredibly famous band that I'd only seen on covers of magazines and LPs, only occasionally George's eyes would find me in the crown and I knew for sure that he was smiling at me. It was the best concert I'd been to, even though my head was exploding from all the screaming girls. And yet, when I looked around scanning some of their crying, adoring, quasi-insane faces, I felt gratitude. I wouldn't have been there if not for those crazed beatles' fangirls.


	14. Chapter 14

We flew off to Cincinnati on the same night, after the concert. When we reached the hotel it was already well past 1am. George, Ringo and I sat around in the living room in their suite for about half an hour. George wanted me to stay the night in the bedroom with him instead of Ringo, who gladly agreed to take my separate bedroom instead, but I told him I had some paperwork to do before I go to sleep and left after saying goodnight.

I went to my room and sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking about all that's been happening lately. It was beginning to seem slightly too much by now. I sprawled out on the bed on my belly and reached for the telephone that was on the nightstand. I dialed the number and waited for Ian to pick up.

"Hello?" I heard his voice.

"Ian, it's me! How are you?"

"Hey, Jo!" he sounded somewhat surprised but pleased nevertheless. "I'm well, thanks. But tell me, how's the tour going?"

"It's all fun, I don't even have that much work. I'm really enjoying it," I quickly gave him a short answer. "Listen, Ian, I think I might be needing your advice...well, more of an opinion."

"Hm?" Was his response.

"I'm kind of uh, dating George, and I..."

"Who?" Ian cut me off in the middle of the sentence.

"George Harrison of The Beatles, you dimwit! Thing is, I'm starting to feel like we're rushing things too much," I continued, completely ignoring his protests against being called a dimwit. "I mean, I met him less than two weeks ago. I'm not the kind of girl who sleeps with a guy after knowing him for a week, and I don't want him or anyone else to think otherwise," I finished peevishly.

"D'you love him?" Ian asked bluntly.

"I, uh. I don't think it's love. From neither side. We really like each other though, you know."

"Hm," Ian paused to think. "Well, I don't see anything wrong with this. I mean, if he digs you, you dig him... It's a gas, don't worry about it," he simply suggested.

"You really think so?" I asked biting the inside of my cheeks.

"Yeah, why not?" Knowing Ian, what he really meant was "have fun while you got the chance".

We talked some more and I finally went to bed. I began to doze off while thinking about George and that I probably shouldn't have plunged into this relationship so quickly after all. But he's a beatle, and who could resist that? Then I remembered what happened between me and John a few hours ago, or rather what didn't happen. I remembered the sight of his eyes and the music in the room. I could almost, almost hear it. The tender sounds were flowing in through the window; I was standing in the middle of a dark room and crying. I walked out through the door into the hallway and the music was getting louder and louder. I reached the front door and stepped outside. I felt cool wooden porch floors under my bare feet. There was a man sitting on a hanging bench, slowly swinging back and forth, and watching the dance of flame of an old wax candle. Elvis was on the radio. I sat down beside him and only then saw that it was John. I felt a big hot tear roll down my cheek, but he replaced it with a kiss. He stood up and gently pulled me into his arms, starting to slowly spin around. "Please, don't stop loving me, darling, you'll always be mine alone," he sang into my ear along with Elvis. Then I woke up.

I joined John's silence during breakfast. Mostly because I had that weird feeling that you get after a very vivid dream, and it made me feel more confused than the night before. However, no wonder, no one but George noticed that I was being unusually quiet. When the two of us were walking along the hotel corridors back to the suite, he asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," I said, mostly because I didn't know what other answer could there be.

"Listen, I really like you, Joanne," he stopped and turned to face me. "I don't want to scare you away by being too straightforward, but I know this might be a lot to handle for you right now. So," he scratched the back of his head, shuffling from one foot to another and looking at me gently. "If you think that we shouldn't be dating, just say the word, and I will...try to understand," he emitted a short dry chuckle. "Otherwise I might as well take you out on a real date."

That was what I liked about George the most. Besides his smile and voice, and talent, and sense of humor. He was incredibly sensitive to those around him, he truly had a gift. And in that moment I realised that George would never do anything to hurt me on purpose.

I hugged him and felt his warm arms capture me in a tight embrace, and it made me feel safe, like I was home. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, barely containing the smile on my face. George looked at me grinning widely, then suddenly picked me up from the ground, threw me over his shoulder and began to run towards the lifts as I laughed uncontrollably.

George carried me all the way to the suite, then put me down on the sofa and sat down next to me, still smiling widely.

"Did you know you have the greenest eyes I've ever seen," he asked brushing the hair away from my face.

I fluttered my lashes flirtatiously as I cupped his face with my hands looking into his eyes.

"You, mr Harrison," I said and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Promised to teach me," another kiss. "To play Raunchy," one more kiss. "Don't think I forgot!"

George sprung on his feet and brought a guitar from one of the bedrooms, then sat down next to me again. He was showing me the chords and strumming techniques when John and Paul entered the room. Paul joked about how I'm rapidly becoming an extra beatle for emergency cases, but John silently made his way across the living room and went to the bathroom without even looking at us. He was always in a bad mood, to some extent, so I didn't give much thought to it. Especially since last night's dream had already lost all its effect on me.


	15. Chapter 15

I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon with George in the suite. We arrived at the Cincinnati Gardens a few hours before the actual concert, because there was supposed to be a press conference. I watched them answer reporters' questions for a bit before Mal took me for a coffee. I particularly enjoyed spending time with him mostly because he was such a funny and sincere guy.

I joined the boys backstage once Mal and I were done setting up and testing the equipment. Brian came in a few minutes after me and told us that the photographers wanted to take a few pictures of The Beatles before they go on stage and they had to go already.

"I can't find my bloody tie!" John said disgruntled.

"Joanne will help you find it," Brian said after glancing at me. "Then join us in the conference room, John," and he left with Paul, Ringo and George.

I started looking around, picking things up and looking under them, and so did John.

"How was the conference?" I asked quite awkwardly, wanting to kill the silence.

"Fine," John simply said.

"What did you guys do afterwards, up until now?" I asked again, knowing that they had a couple of free hours after the conference. "Mal and I..."

"Nothing," John cut me off, causing me to freeze with my mouth open, staring at him not even glancing at me.

I couldn't understand what was wrong, but I decided that this was not the time to try to find out. And anyway, he was probably tired after being questioned by the journalists. I pressed my lips together in a straight line and turned around to look for the tie in one of the guitar cases, which was exactly where it was.

"Here, I found it!" I stepped closer to John wanting to help him with his tie, but he snatched it from my hands and walked out the room.

We went back to the hotel after the concert and I found myself hanging out in the suite with George and Ringo. They told me about how they talked to Elvis Presley on the phone backstage and it got me wondering why didn't John tell me this, but then I remember the way he was acting before the concert in general. I began to think about all the possible answers to what would have made him so angry and annoyed, and it probably reflected in my face, because George asked what was wrong.

"Huh?" I looked at him sheepishly and then flashed a grin. "Nothing, I was just wondering why did John act as if I did something bad to him earlier, before you went on stage," I shrugged.

"You see, love, it's just how Lennon is," Ringo said waving his finger in the air. "I'm still getting used to him," he looked over at me, waiting for me to laugh and so I did, but I still felt somewhat hurt by John's behaviour.

George began to play some old American folk melody on the guitar that had been lying on his lap while he was telling me about the conversation with Elvis.

"I saw your girl the other day!" Ringo suddenly exclaimed in a fake Southern accent. "You know what?" He grinned at George.

"What?"

"The wind was blowin'," Ringo paused, searching for words, but George beat him to it.

"Blowin' my girl?" He asked, which made both Ringo and me chuckle.

"Blowin' her hair all over her face!" Ringo tried to fix this little random folk ballad.

"She hasn't got a face!" George laughed at his own words, and so did I.

"Not only that, it was blowing her head all over the road, aaaah!"

Ringo's response was the last straw and the three of us burst out laughing.

We talked and laughed some more before I caught myself yawning and stood up, taking George's hand and pulling him up with me.

"I feel like my head's been blown over the road," I fail to suppress a grin as Ringo emitted a loud chuckle. "I'm going to bed."

"I'll walk you!" George quickly offered and draped his arm around my waist grinning as I looked at Ringo to wish him good night.

George and I walked through the corridors in silence, holding hands and glancing at each other. When we reached my door a couple of minutes later, George gently pushed me up against the wall and leaned in for a kiss, sliding his hands around my waist. The sensation was only partly physical, as I kept thinking about how much I liked him and how happy he made me. We pulled away a few moments later and I took George by the hand again, dragging him into my room.

The only source of light was the street lamps dimly shining outside the window and I could only make out George's wide smile before he kissed me again, slowly pushing me backwards and down on the bed while we were still glued to each other. I let out a quiet giggle against his lips, not thinking anymore, just doing. At that point, I had already decided I was going to spend the night with George Harrison.


	16. Chapter 16

I woke up fairly early the next morning and found George still sleeping next to me. I couldn't help but smile looking at his closed eyes and listening to his peaceful breathing. I quietly got out of bed, got dressed and sneaked out of the room to find something to eat. I thought I should come by the suite first and found Paul and Ringo helping themselves to ridiculously large amounts of all kinds of breakfast foods there - allegedly they were too tired to go downstairs to eat.

"Oh," I stopped in the doorway and beamed at them. "Mind if I join?"

"Roll yer head over here, girl!" Ringo cackled. "Have you by any chance seen our Georgie boy?" He looked at me friskily, wiggling his eyebrows as I sat down on the sofa next to Paul.

"Uh-huh," I nodded not looking at either of them and stuffed a chunk of banana in my mouth to both hide my happy smile that would definitely be a giveaway and to have a pretext for not saying anything more.

Ringo and Paul exchanged eloquent looks and then returned their gazes at me, both grinning.

"Say, luv, was he wearing anything the last time you saw him?" Paul asked smirking at me, and making my cheeks turn scarlet.

"He must be exhausted after last night," Ringo said. "Er I mean, the gig, after last night's gig," he was looking at me, obviously struggling to stifle a laugh. "Isn't he?"

"Bloody hell!" I exclaimed standing up and went to the other side of the room to get a cup of coffee. "You two are such teenage girls!" I chuckled rolling my eyes and glancing at them before I turned away to pour hot water into my cup.

"We just want answers," Ringo shrugged over-exaggeratedly as I sat down on the sofa again.

"We're worried about our guitarist, haven't seen him since last night!" Paul added in mock horror.

"For god's sake, your guitarist is safe and sound in my room, sleeping and probably dreaming of a better world without nosy bandmates!"

As soon as I finished my sentence, I turned my head to see John standing in the bedroom doorway, staring at me rather resentfully. He dragged himself across the room to where the table with coffee was, poured himself a cup, then fished a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and looked around, supposedly searching for a lighter.

"I heard you got to talk to Elvis, John?" I asked sweetly, as if trying to show him that whatever the reason was for him treating me so rudely the day before, I did not want to fight with him any more.

John looked at me for a second, but quickly turned his gaze to the lighter lying on the coffee table as he murmured a positive answer, then grabbed the lighter, sat down in an armchair and hid himself behind a newspaper. I looked at Ringo wide eyed and he shrugged ever so slightly.

"So," Ringo cleared his throat looking at me, then at Paul and back at me. "We're going to New York tonight after the show! How exciting is that?" He raised his eyebrows, smiling as he grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, took one out and threw the pack to me.

We talked about what we wanted to see in the Big Apple, and eventually John reappeared from behind the newspaper to join our discussion. However, whenever I would say something to him, he'd just shrug coldly and mutter the shortest answers he possibly could. About 20 minutes later I decided to go back to my room, hoping George would be awake by now. I didn't even reach the lifts when I met him in the corridor.

"There she is, the light of my world!" George exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air as I laughed. "I hope you don't mind me borrowing this," he extracted my notebook from his back pocket and held it up grinning.

I smiled and shook my head.

"They're having breakfast in the suite," I informed George.

"Right, but where are you going?" He gently poked my neck.

"I have to..." I paused and decided not to make any false excuses. "I don't think John likes me hanging around all the time. And I fully understand him," I quickly added seeing George's changing expression.

"Is he still being a dick to you? I thought you both got past that?" He furrowed his brow, dropping his hands at his sides.

"Well, I thought we were beginning to get along, but... Whatever, I don't care," I shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "I'm gonna go see if Brian needs anything," I kissed George on the cheek and smiled at him before walking away.

Unfortunately, I did care, it bothered me a lot, and I knew I had to talk to John.

I went to Brian, we talked about some minor changes of the upcoming concerts and I was free to go. On my way back to my room I saw John walking out of a lift. I quickly caught up with him.

"John, can we please talk?" I asked sounding more desperate than I intended.

"Suit yourself," he replied offhandedly and kept walking away as I stopped dead in my tracks.

I stared at his back wide eyed, getting mad at myself for not being able to let this go when I heard Mal's voice behind me.

"Hey, Jo... What's wrong?" he narrowed his eyes as he saw my stupefied facial expression.

"I'm pretty sure John hates me and I've no idea why," I turned to face Mal.

"I'm sure he doesn't, he's just being his Lennon self," he shook his head dismissively.

"It feels like he really does," I heard my voice quivering ever so slightly.

"Well that would be weird," Mal curled his lips into a frown.

"Why would that be weird?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"John was the one who asked me to call you when Neil told us he had to leave," Mal simply said looking into my eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

I couldn't stop thinking about what Mal had told me for the rest of the day. I just couldn't concentrate on anything else, and George had to call my name three times before I looked at him when we were in a car to the airport after their gig.

"Huh?"

"What's gotten into you, Jo?" He asked sweetly, placing his hand on my knee.

"I'm just... thinking," I glanced at the back of Mal's head who was sitting next to the driver.

Mal must've felt my eyes landing on him, because he turned his head to face me that very moment.

"You can't be still thinking about John for god's sake?!" He sighed helplessly.

"Wh-what?" George frowned glancing at Mal and me. "What's he done now?"

I shook my head silently and nestled it against George's shoulder, taking his hand in mine and closing my eyes. He slowly exhaled and planted a kiss in my hair, lingering on it for a long moment.

I tried to fall asleep on the plane, but I couldn't. This time, only a couple of photographers were flying with us, and John kept talking to one of them, a short chubby guy. I wished he'd leave John alone so that I could go and talk to him - after all, we were on a plane so there was nowhere for him to hide or walk away. But they talked and talked, and talked, and I decided that it wouldn't work this time either.

I sighed and leaned back in my seat when a pillow flew over my head and almost hit unsuspecting Brian. I turned my head and saw Ringo and George laughing their heads off. I rolled eyes at them but they motioned their hands for me to come. When I approached them, George's lips curled into a discontented snarl. He grabbed my hand and planted a kiss on my palm, looking up at me.

"Stop it, Jo," George almost pleaded and I knew exactly what he meant.

"But was it something I said or..." my thoughts got distracted when Ringo grabbed another pillow and threw it at John sitting a few feet away.

John turned his face to look in our direction and I could clearly see a big smile fading away when our eyes met, yet his eyes glistened with what seemed to be excitement mixed with panic before he looked away.

"I'm taking you out on a date," George proudly declared once Ringo stood up and went to sit with Paul. "Tomorrow."

George, still holding my hand, pulled me down and into the seat that Ringo had been sitting in. I leaned in and kissed George's neck before finding my way to his lips. I really really liked George, but even then I just couldn't stop wondering what I'd done wrong to earn John's hostility. However, I knew George didn't deserve to constantly listen to me babbling about his bandmate. I spent the rest of the flight seated next to George; we got into a very interesting discussion about reincarnation and the afterlife, and I finally stopped worrying about anything else.

When I woke up in my hotel room the next morning, I knew that Mal was already waiting for me down in the lobby. I quickly got dressed and went to meet him. We were supposed to go shopping for The Beatles since they couldn't leave the hotel, for their own safety. I smiled at Mal when I saw him leaning over the counter and talking to the hotel receptionist. He noticed me walking towards him and matched my smile with one of his one.

"I take it you're in a good mood then?" He asked.

I nodded. I didn't want to burden anyone else with my problems with John; or rather with my disability to understand John who had no problems at all, as far as he was concerned.

We spent the first half of the day out in the city. Mal decided that it wouldn't hurt if we grabbed some lunch and went for a stroll in the central park once we were done shopping, and so we did.

We came back to the hotel at about 4pm and George was already waiting for me in the suite. He grabbed the bags that I was holding and impatiently placed them on the sofa.

"We're leaving," he beamed at me, taking my hand.

"Where?" I giggled, feeling quite confused.

"I'm taking you on a date!"

George was wearing a suit, nothing out of ordinary, but I still wanted to protest against wearing the plainest black dress that I owned to our first date. I wasn't wearing any make up either, but George assured me that I looked as beautiful as ever to him, and who was I to disagree with him. I giggled again, placing a kiss on his cheek and we stormed out into the corridor.

We got downstairs and I merely assumed that we were going to the hotel's restaurant, but George guided me towards the back exit.

"But where are we going?" I asked furrowing my brow as George gently pushed me, urging me to get into the car that was waiting outside.

"Believe it or not, there are places where people are so snobby that they try to pretend they don't know The Beatles. We're going to one of those," he smirked at me.


End file.
